Abstract Reality
by The-Sinful-Assbutt
Summary: <html><head></head>Dean's newest hunt has got him stuck in prison for a few days, but he's not worried. Once the demons are out of the picture, he knew his brother would get him right out of there just like they'd planned. But he quickly finds out that he may be there for a bit longer than he'd expected, stuck with an insane yet weirdly attractive cellmate and a creep who just won't leave Dean alone.</html>


Dean's face split into a smirk as the cold metal was snapped over his wrists. They were more than a little too tight, tight enough that he'd probably have bruises by morning, but hell if he minded. He'd given them every reason to be rough with him, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy being handled that way anyway.

"Oh hey, not even gonna take me on a date first?" He commented, biting his lip to hold back his own laughter because _damn that was good. _He really impressed himself sometimes.

Disappointingly though, it wasn't enough to earn a chuckle out of the one in uniform. Some cops really needed to lighten up! Dean had spent enough time on both sides of the law system to know that most cops were just _ridiculously full of themselves, _sure there were some cool ones, some he'd even take out to the bar if he got a chance, but this definitely wasn't one of those cops.

Well… I guess he _could _have been one of those cops, I guess nobody would be in the mood for jokes after seeing the scene Dean had left in that house. Yeah, that was probably a bit more likely. But still, if Dean were a cop he would've still laughed at that. You can't just let good humour go to waste like that! It's just plain rude if you ask him.

Reasoning aside though, his little joke didn't help lighten the mood in the slightest. Dean was not-so-gently spun around and was finally given a good look at the man handling him. To his surprise, he was impressed with what he saw. The man was stern-faced, he had a strong jaw hidden under a fair amount of stubble and brown eyes the colour of melted chocolate, and as Dean's eyes lowered a bit he saw the uniform stretched thinly across his thick biceps. The view brought a smile to his face and he almost wanted to chuckle, wondering if the man had gotten a size down to better show off his impressive chest or if he'd just simply outgrown it. But, a bit distracted with that fantastic chest, he'd almost missed the utter disgust lingering behind those chocolatey eyes, and the twitch in his finger that was loudly exclaiming how much he wanted to strangle Dean. Lucky for Dean though, he managed to keep that desire on the inside, and instead dragged him roughly over to the police car as his job required him to, probably leaving some bruises where he grabbed his arm too.

"You have the right to remain silent," he spat out bitterly, voice low and gruff, almost drowned out by the roaring of sirens, "anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law" and blah blah blah, if you've ever watched a crime show before you probably know the speech as well as Dean does. He wasn't exactly a model citizen, he'd heard the speech before in his life. So naturally he wasn't that interested in hearing it again, and instead he focused his attention to the body bag being carried out of the house. They hadn't even bothered taking her to the ambulance, just one look at that girl and you could tell she wouldn't be up on her feet ever again. Dean smiled at himself though, cause he had done a damn good job of making that look like the work of a cold-blooded killer. Whether he actually was or not was arguable, he liked to believe that wasn't the case, but what's important is what the cops see right? And what they saw sure wasn't pretty.

"Do you understand these rights?" The man recited, not waiting for an answer before shoving him mercilessly down into the back of the car.

"No actually," he answered cheekily, "I'm a bit fuzzy on the first one, think you could explain it a bit better for me?" He was ignored though, and all he received as an answer was an icy glare and a door slammed shut so fiercely he couldn't help but to flinch. He was pretty sure there was a whispered comment about him being a bastard, but he had to admit it was at least a justified comment, he had just killed someone after all.

Well, if you could even call it a someone. It was more of a some_thing _really, it had stopped being a someone ages ago. And honestly, Dean didn't feel bad about sending that son of a bitch back where it belonged.

Sam, however, did think he went a bit overboard with the whole thing, but go big or go home right? He wanted to make an impression! He only wished he had brought a change of clothes cause he didn't like how the bloodsoaked fabric clung to his chest. He'd probably have to just throw away this outfit, no amount of washing would get these stains out. But other than that, Sam's opinion really didn't matter here anymore. Dean was the one getting arrested and he'd damn well do it the way he wanted. Sam had the luxury of taking off well before the cops got around here, and he'd taken Baby too. It wasn't easy for him to get those keys out of Dean's hands and it was even more difficult for Dean to watch Sam just drive away with his Baby. But before he'd driven off, Dean had sworn to his little brother that if that car had one scratch on it by the time Dean got back, he'd never see the light of day again. It was a joke of course, but the sentiment behind it was real.

But yeah, Sammy just got to drive away like nothing happened while Dean was stuck hanging around with some deceased son of a bitch. He did learn something today though; the cops really need to work on their reaction time. When you hear there's been a murder that's probably not a good time to just keep people waiting. But either way, they'd left Dean with plenty of time to up the gore factor in that room, so the cops could be blamed for that much. Any real killer would have been long gone by the time the police showed up, honest to god it was an agonizingly long wait. But, he got the job done. And with any luck, it would be enough to have him locked up behind bars by the end of the week. And out by the next of course.

* * *

><p>The trial went pretty well. Or, for Dean's purposes it went well, anyone else in his position would have probably said it went horribly. He was found guilty of first degree murder, and was sentenced to 25 short years in a high security prison. He was probably the first person to ever smile at that news, and I'm sure everyone around was surprised with how well he took it. But for Dean, there was no reality to the news, it was more like he was hearing it on TV because he <em>knew <em>that didn't mean anything to him. Not really. 25 years is only what they thought he was getting, Dean was the only one in the room who knew how completely unrealistic that was. One week was honestly the maximum he would be there, then he'd disappear and never be seen again, by them at least. Dean and Sam were pretty good at disappearing, they learned from their father.

Dean had never been to prison before but he was pretty sure he'd handle it well, he could be pretty scary when he wanted to be. He knew how to intimidate. But as he was dragged out of that bus with the other new prisoners, he had to admit the building did unsettle him a bit. Really, it just looked like a giant cement block planted in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by tall chain link fence. Under normal circumstances, he'd probably be able to climb it, but the little signs with stickmen being electrocuted told him it was probably not worth the risk. He also noticed a _MAXIMUM SECURITY _sign hanging from the fence, and he forced his lips into a smirk, going over Sam's brilliant escape plan in his mind a couple times. There was perks to having a genius for a brother, that's for sure. Maximum security my ass. No amount of security was enough to stop the Winchesters.

After he'd been through all the fun stuff, you know, being checked for weapons, forced into those ugly beige outfits, all that, he was finally dragged to his cell. A few inmates whistled and catcalled as he went by, but most didn't seem to give a crap about the new guy. But he made sure to give a playful wink to everyone who did, cause damn if he was gonna be stuck here for awhile he was at least gonna enjoy himself. Not like he'd run into anyone he knew here anyway, so screw it. He would have some fun.

Finally though, after the long trek to his cell block, he finally saw the place he'd be calling home for the next week. It was, well… it was tiny. To say the least. Smaller than any motel he'd ever spent the night in, that's for sure. Two mattresses sat on thin metal frames, because somehow they'd managed to squeeze two whole beds into this cramped little cell, but the frames were old and rusty and he had doubts that they'd be able to hold his weight. In fact, he was surprised they could even support the mattresses on top of them. Other than the beds though, the room was mostly empty, the rest of the space occupied only by a metal toilet that he was definitely not excited to use. Well, he could tell this was going to be a joyful week… He'd make the best of it though. Wasn't so bad.

Dean was actually weirdly excited to meet his cellmate, in a maximum security prison he was more than likely to get stuck with an interesting character. Sadly though, a cellmate seemed to be the only thing missing from this room. You know, other than furniture, wallpaper, all that stuff… For a moment he thought he might have just lucked out and gotten his own personal suite, but the drawings up on the wall told him otherwise. He took a seat on the bed that obviously wasn't his and inspected the art that had been neatly taped to the wall. It wasn't exactly pleasant to look at. If he wasn't so well-versed on the subject, he would've called the creatures depicted there demons. It was the kind of demon you'd see in a child's nightmare though, not the kind you'd find out in the real world. But there was still something about the grotesque images that sent a chill down Dean's spine, he almost felt bad for the twisted imagination the artist must have been suffering with. Dark eyes stared at him through the barrier of the paper, horns twisted out of deformed skulls, bones poked out through rotting flesh, it was like staring right into a horror movie, the only thing normalizing the sketches was the run-of-the-mill clothing that clung to the disfigured, mangled bodies.

But, Dean knew better than anyone that this wasn't an accurate depiction of what genuine evil looks like. He'd come face to face with it more than any normal person ever would, went out looking for it even. He could tell you first-hand that looking into the face of a demon seemed no different than looking into the face of a human. They blend in with us, they camouflage, any body could be harboring the kind of evil that should never find it's way out of Hell. And that was the most terrifying part of demons, you can't pick them out by their twisted horns or their rotted flesh, your best friend could be one of them and you wouldn't even know it. _That's _the kind of thing that would keep Dean awake at night, not images of horrible creatures that don't exist.

But… it's obvious that images like these are what keeps the artist up at night. They may not be out there in the real world, but they were probably real enough to him. Where the hell was this guy anyway? Shouldn't he be in here with Dean? Or did he just leave his drawings behind after he was released? But it didn't really matter which, because they both meant the same thing at the moment; Dean was stuck here alone. Which sucked pretty badly, but depending on what this guy was like, it could've been a good thing. He didn't bother moving over to his own bed, a choice he'd probably regret later, and instead leaned back on the crazy guy's bed and stared up at the ceiling. The flimsy metal frame squeaked under the pressure, but managed to hold his weight pretty well. The ceiling wasn't exactly the most entertaining thing to look at, but he was able to kill some time imagining constellations in the tiny holes littering the gray surface. There was no clock, so he wasn't exactly sure _how much _time he killed doing that, but he was sure it had to be at least a good five minutes. Maybe even ten.

It wasn't until the third time he was called that he realized someone was trying to talk to him, and for a moment he thought that maybe his cellmate had finally decided to show up. But to his disappointment, he looked up to see it was some guy in the cell across from him that was speaking.

"New guy! Yes, for God's sake you, are you deaf?" he sat up to get a better look at him and _damn _was the guy _ugly. _He had a long face, sunken eyes and desperately needed a shave and if the cop who arrested him earlier was eye candy, this guy was more like eye… salad or something. And his voice was about as unpleasant as his face.

"What do you want?" Dean answered without much interest, he could tell already he wasn't going to like this guy. Something about him already pissed Dean off.

"What's your name?"

"What's it matter to you?" he countered, hoping to make it clear that he was the one in control of this conversation while also expressing how much he doesn't give a crap about this guy.

"Hey, get that chip off your shoulder, it won't get you far in here. I'm just being friendly" Dean wanted to roll his eyes but figured it wasn't the best idea, "now what's your name?"

"Fabio the second"

"Trust me, I'm not the kind of guy you want to screw around with here. I'll ask you one more time"

"Dean for god's sake, my name is Dean. Happy?"

"There we go! Look what a quick learner you are Dean, you're doing well. Now, what brings you here?" God is this guy fucking serious? Does he think Dean is twelve or something? Condescending son of a bitch.

"Aren't you going to tell me your name?" is all he said though. He made sure to squeeze as much bitter defiance into those words as he could though.

"Alastair," the name slipped off his tongue smoothly, a sickeningly wide smile spreading over the man's ugly face, "now answer the question. Don't think you're the one in charge here, from now on I'll be asking the questions"

Right. Now was time for Dean to be the scary one, he let himself smile before he spoke.

"I killed someone"

"Oh, just one?" he said with a patronizing disappointment lingering behind his words.

"That they know about," Dean smirked, not feeling it necessary to say any more than that.

"Oh really?" He raised an eyebrow, "you don't look the type"

"I know, I know, most killers aren't this good looking, I'm one of the lucky ones," surprisingly enough, Alastair seemed genuinely pleased with this answer, for whatever reason. He probably didn't realize it was a subtle insult towards him as much as it was a cocky statement about himself.

"I like you," he said after a short pause, which was certainly not words he'd expected to hear out of that mouth. Or words he'd really wanted to hear for that matter.

"Good for you"

"Sit with me for dinner?"

"I think I'll pass," Alastair laughed, as if he thought Dean's answer was a joke. Dean decided to change the subject, he was not going to let himself be talked into being this guy's prison bitch or whatever. "So do you know if I have a cellmate or what? Shouldn't he be here?"

"Oh he'll be back eventually, he's been in and out of the loony bin since he got here," he told Dean, "he was doing pretty well for awhile, but last week he broke down and tried to stab someone, haven't seen him since. I'd avoid him as much as possible if I were you. He's about as crazy as it gets, they had to ban razors because of that moron" he finished, rubbing his hairy chin.

Well _great, _isn't that wonderful. He'd guessed from the drawings that he was a bit on the crazy side but he was hoping he wouldn't get the kind of prisoner who just wanted to stab everyone in sight. Hopefully he'd stay in the loony bin until Dean was long gone.

"Think he'll be back?"

"He always comes back"

"Damn" Alastair laughed,

"He's pretty quiet. don't talk to him and he'll probably leave you alone"

Surprisingly, Dean ended up talking to Alastair for quite awhile, he may be a dick but with nothing else around to keep him entertained, Dean figured he was the best of a bad situation and just went along with it. By the time the cells were unlocked for dinner, he'd gotten a pretty good run-down of how things work around here, and if Alastair was right, apparently the food was semi-tolerable. _Thank god. _He was worried he'd starve to death in here, his usual diet of greasy cheeseburgers and fries not enough to prepare him for what they planned on serving him here. But according to Alastair, the horror stories around prison food were nothing more than rumors, and he had yet to find a dead rat in any of his meals.

However, when the doors were open, he still took his first opportunity to get away from that ass, and he followed the herd to the cafeteria where he got a pretty good place in line for food. He licked his lips in anticipation, he'd hardly eaten since the incident and he'd barely realized how starving he was. One big man shoved his way in front of Dean, taking the heap of noodles that should have belonged to him.

"Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing?" But the man just grunted at him before walking away and a new plate of noodles was shoved in Dean's direction. "Yeah…! Yeah, that's right you better run" he mumbled under his breath, taking the plate and turning to survey the room. The tables were filling up pretty quickly, it reminded him of high school. Well, if high school was full of serial killers and drug dealers and shit. Everyone seemed to have already chosen the tables with their friends and there wasn't any room for newbies. He stood there for a minute, not wanting to be the awkward one sitting alone but also not wanting to sit with a bunch of unfriendly killers and rapists either. It didn't look like he had much of a choice though. But luckily, he quickly saw a way out of his little ultimatum. Looking to his left he noticed another man that didn't have a place to sit, surveying the room much like Dean was, but a bit more purposefully. Well, man was a bit of an overstatement, he kind of looked more like a kid to Dean. He'd seen him before, earlier that day actually. He'd been a couple seats ahead of him on the bus this morning.

"Hey," Dean greeted him and he looked over in surprise, but seemed disappointed with what he saw, "looking for somewhere to sit?"

"Well... " he looked around the room again before looking back to Dean "yeah sure, why not"

Dean set his tray down at one of the empty tables that hadn't been claimed yet, and his new friend took the seat across from him. "So what's your name?" he asked without bothering to look up at Dean, already too busy shoveling food into his mouth. I guess it was no mystery how he'd gotten that chubby.

"Dean," he answered, following the kid's lead and shamelessly shoving a huge forkful of noodles into his mouth. They were a bit on the bland side, but nothing unsightly was growing on it so he'd survive. "How 'bout you?"

"Deano, cool name. You can call me Gabriel, you're new here too right?"

"I dare you to call me that again"

"Whoa, touchy! Alright _Dean, _whatever you say. Now you are new here right? Can't imagine any other reason you'd ask to sit with me. Well, you know, unless you've got the hots for me or something, in which case I'm just gonna say up front here, _I do not swing that way, _understood?"

"Oh get over yourself, not everyone's after your ass"

"Oh you have _no idea," _he smiled, ripping open a package of sugar and dumping it onto his lump of noodles, "my life is like an Axe commercial"

"That's not salt you know"

"Oh I know" with that he pleasantly shoved the rest of his sugary noodles into his mouth and stood up. "Well, nice talking to you Deano, I'll see you around alright? I've got some things to do, you know how it is" but he didn't, and with that it was like Gabriel had never been there at all. What the hell even was that? What better things could he possibly have to do, he was in _prison _for God's sake! Jackass.

I bet you can guess who he got stuck with after Gabriel left. Yeah, I'm sure it's not difficult to figure out which asshole from the cell across his decided to fill Gabriel's seat. If he was looking for a new bestie, he wasn't going to be getting that from Dean for sure. But as far as Alastair was concerned, they were already besties. Dinner and 'free' time seemed to drag on forever and Dean had never been so excited to be locked back up in a cell in his life, just to get away from that son of a bitch for a few minutes. At least in his cell he could ignore him.

* * *

><p>Dean's bladder was ready to burst. He'd been having a staring contest with that toilet for at least a good 10 or 20 minutes and his bladder was getting very fed up with the indecisiveness. Dean's body just wanted to take a piss, but his mind was very against the idea of using <em>this<em> toilet. There was just something so demeaning about being forced to piss in public, urinals were different but this was just _right out in the open. _For everyone to see. He was not into that. At all. But, his biological functions seemed to win over his mind and he figured the only thing worse than pissing in public is publically pissing your pants, so he made his decision and stepped over to the toilet. God… he made an effort to stare at the wall as he pulled it out, not wanting to see the looks of any of the other nearby inmates. But with a great sigh of relief he finally just let it all out, and damn did it ever feel good. For a few seconds, he forgot all about all the other prisoners… but only a few short seconds, before he was interrupted by the clang of the cell door being swung open. He quickly turned his head to see what was going on… and what perfect timing. Another inmate was being brought into the cell… Dean's new cellmate… and Dean had his dick out. What a great way to introduce himself.

The cell door was slammed shut behind the man, and everything seemed to fall silent… except for the soft sound of his piss hitting the water. Fucking hell.

But to Dean's surprise, the man didn't seem fazed by the awkward position he had found Dean in. In fact, he met Dean's eyes dead-on before Dean even had a chance to look away. Even more surprisingly though, the guy looked relieved. _Relieved. _What the hell? The tension in his body seemed to slip away as he saw Dean's face, he let out a breath and allowed himself to sit down, the bed letting out a soft whine at the sudden weight it was forced to hold.

"Hey," Dean said, the steady stream slowing to a halt. He could already feel the redness climbing up his cheeks. God this was probably a normal thing for him, who knows how long he'd been in here, how many people he'd watched take a piss. Of course this didn't faze him, Alastair made it sound like he'd been here for years.

"Hello," he answered quickly, eyes now deciding to avoid Dean's. He quickly tucked himself back up, flushing the toilet.

"So… you're my new roomie huh?" He said, sitting at his own bed and taking the opportunity to look over this cellmate of his he'd heard so much about.

"I… suppose I am, yes" his voice was timid, but much lower than Dean would expect from looking at him. But he was.. surprisingly attractive. For a psycho killer I mean, he was definitely the best looking person he'd seen since getting a peek at the mirror earlier that day. Seriously, he was just ridiculously handsome, and if Dean was going to allow himself one indulgence in his life, he kind of hoped it would be him. What really struck him about the guy though was, surprisingly enough, his eyes. Out of all the sappy things, of course it had to be his eyes. But they were just _so goddamn blue _the fucking _ocean _would be jealous, damn. It wasn't until after that that he noticed the body, about as flawless as the eyes. His clothes weren't the best fit, and his hand was tugging on them as if he wanted nothing more than to rip them off (Oh how he'd love to help with that) but he could still see enough of it to tell he _wanted _that body. He _really _wanted it. He felt his tongue slide along his lips but quickly composed himself, not wanting to come off as too creepy.

God, what was he even thinking? This guy had _stabbed someone _last week.

Why was he worried about being the creepy one?

"You got a name?"

"Castiel," he answered, still avoiding Dean's eyes. It was a bit weird, when he first walked in he couldn't keep his eyes off him, and now he couldn't even get him to look in his direction.

"Well, nice to meet you. The name's Dean"

"That's a nice name," he commented quietly, blue eyes wandering the room.

"So… those your drawings up there?"

Castiel turned his head to look at the sketches before slowly nodding, "if they're bothering you I can take them down…"

"Naah, it's fine," Dean assured him, "some wicked imagination you've got there though, big on horror movies?"

"Not particularly"

"Where do you come up with those things then?"

"Like you said… I have a wicked imagination" Dean followed his eyes as they roamed out of the cell.

"You can look at me you know," Dean smiled, "I don't bite" and surprisingly, the guy obliged, eyes quickly moving to follow Dean's orders. There was a brief pause in the conversation, Dean felt a need to break the silence but found no words coming to him.

"... Why are you here?" he asked suddenly, studying Dean's own eyes with an unexpected intensity.

"Murder," Dean answered instantly, shifting his weight a bit under Cas's heavy gaze.

Another brief pause.

"You're not a murderer"

"Well…" Dean forced a bit of laughter, "tell that to the judge huh? I'm sure it'll get me right out of here"

Cas studied Dean a bit longer, and there was a sense of relief when he finally pried his eyes away from Dean in favor of the wall to his right.

"You're not a murderer" he repeated, and Dean had no words to say. He let the conversation die there and decided to get comfortable inhis bed, starting to get used to the bed frame's protests from beneath him.

"I'm gonna get some sleep alright?"

"Alright Dean. Goodnight"

"Goodnight Cas" he looked back to Dean for a moment before turning his gaze back to the endlessly interesting wall.

Dean tried to sleep, he really did. He tossed and turned on that tiny bed but could never really get comfortable enough to sleep. Every once in awhile he opened an eye to glance at his cellmate, but I guess he wasn't tired either. He just kind of sat there, all night, and Dean lied there. He just had the worst sinking feeling in his chest, anytime he drifted anywhere close to unconsciousness he would just feel his chest tighten and his eyes would fly open again and Cas would still be there. Just sitting there. I guess it was a sleepless night for the both of them.


End file.
